


Second Sunrise

by stcrmpilot



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, i suppose even brax needs a break from being a bastard every once in a while, like literally holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-03 00:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stcrmpilot/pseuds/stcrmpilot
Summary: Narvin is not necessarily a morning person by nature. Brax is a bit more adaptable.





	Second Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebraxiatelcollection (songofgallifrey)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofgallifrey/gifts).

Narvin is not necessarily a morning person by nature; centuries of irregular work hours and early morning missions have gotten him well accustomed to waking before first dawn, but in none of his bodies has he ever particularly enjoyed it. He is, however, a very light sleeper—another gift of his job—so it’s somewhat to his chagrin when he wakes to an empty bed and the sound of someone clattering about his flat. 

By the gold-orange light streaming in through the window, it’s well before second sunrise—on an elusive day off, no less. Narvin rolls over and buries his face in a pillow as he attempts to drag himself towards some semblance of mental alertness, knowing he’ll need it to deal with the source of the cursed racket. He never would have thought Braxiatel capable of getting out of bed before absolutely necessary, but he’s found him to be full of surprises. Unfortunately. 

This morning’s surprise comes waltzing into his room humming a tune Narvin doesn’t recognize, at least ten microspans before he’s awake enough to cope. He groans, muffled into his pillow, and curls up tighter beneath the covers, hoping the noise will disappear if only he refuses to acknowledge it. 

“Ah, there you are, Narvin,” comes Brax’s maddeningly composed voice. Narvin can practically hear the smirk. “I was beginning to think you might have perished in your sleep, dead to the world as you were.”

There’s a little _ clack _as Brax sets something down on his side table. His footsteps move round the bed, and then Narvin’s pillow is plucked away, revealing a dressed, groomed, well-rested Braxiatel, smiling smugly down at him. Narvin glares.

“You aren’t funny,” he states, his voice still rough with sleep. It seems to inspire something in Brax, whose smile shifts to a look of distinct affection; he puts the pillow back in its proper spot and slips into bed beside Narvin, forcing him to roll back onto his side and sit up with a huff. He glances at the table to find that Brax has brought a tray of assorted breakfast foods and a cup of steaming tea. 

“Perhaps,” Brax allows, sliding closer to wrap his arm around Narvin’s shoulders, “but I think my remarkable generosity rather makes up for it, don’t you?”

Narvin grumbles as Brax presses up to his side like some exceptionally needy feline, pulling him snug against his body. “What’s all that for, anyway?” he asks, doing his best to sound cross, though it’s a bit difficult when Brax is nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Well, it’s for eating, dear,” Brax explains patiently, speaking into his shirt. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept?” 

“No,” Narvin mutters, letting himself sag into Brax’s arms as he begins pressing light kisses to the side of his neck. “I meant, why do you cook for me? Is there an upcoming meeting I’ve forgotten about? Some favour you’d like owed to you?”

“Oh, Narvin, you don’t really think me foolish enough to try ingratiating myself with you?” Brax murmurs. He splays his free hand over Narvin’s stomach, sliding it up to rest between his hearts. “I really can’t fathom why you insist on sleeping fully clothed, by the way, I thought you valued efficiency.”

Narvin sighs heavily, pointedly ignoring the way his cheeks heat. “Really, Braxiatel, it is much too early for your attempts at misdirection.” 

“If I didn’t cook,” Brax says, in a long-suffering sort of way, “would you eat?”

“Well… no,” Narvin admits. “But–”

His answer earns him a kiss on his cheek, then his temple, making his hearts do a terribly annoying little flip. 

“There you are, then,” says Brax, his breath tickling Narvin’s cheek as he reaches across to grab the tray and balances it on his lap. “Go on.”

Narvin sighs once more, but picks up his fork anyway; this is probably some kind of bribe, knowing Brax, and thus he’s perfectly justified in eating out of spite. It’s entirely incidental that Brax is really quite a good chef, and Narvin always finds his food surprisingly tasty, for someone who doesn’t particularly enjoy eating. Oblivious to his tetchiness, Brax rests his head on his shoulder and his hand on his arm, stroking idly with his thumb, occasionally reaching out to steal a bite of toast or a piece of meat. Narvin doesn’t dare ask where he got the ingredients, for he’s certain it’s either questionably legal or highly frowned-upon. 

Brax is warm and heavy, curled against him, and Narvin’s head is near spinning with relaxation by the time they finish the food. This seems to please Brax greatly; he’s smiling as he takes the tray from Narvin and returns it to the kitchen, leaving Narvin to sip his tea and try not to yawn, wondering how he’s going to convince himself to get up now. 

To his surprise, Brax returns in short order and reclaims his spot on the bed, taking a moment to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt before settling down with his hands laced behind his head. 

“What’s this, then?” Narvin asks, amused. 

Brax gives him that lazy, lopsided smile that so irritates him, and definitely doesn’t make his chest fill with warmth. “Well, as you were so clearly bothered by the early awakening…”

Any other time, Narvin might be too proud to accept the invitation, especially when delivered in such a purposefully irritating way. But to say it’s been decades since his last proper day off would only be a slight dramatisation, and Brax has a rather inconvenient way of making him feel like he’s melting, just a bit. So he rolls his eyes, sets his mug on the side table and shuffles down beside him. 

Brax gathers him into his arms, his eyes crinkling in an utterly insufferable expression of fondness; Narvin thinks it prudent to lean in for a kiss before he can be teased for the matching grin tugging at the corners of his lips. It does nothing at all to improve the situation, and by the time he pulls back, Brax’s hand cupping his cheek, a delicate ache tugging somewhere behind his breastbone, he knows he must look every bit a smitten fool as Brax does. 

Chuckling contentedly, Brax wraps both arms securely around him, and he settles his head down on his shoulder, hand instinctively coming to rest over one heart. 

“You know, my dearest Coordinator,” Brax says, sounding distinctly pleased with himself, “this is a very bad way to discourage me from waking you up early.”

“I hate you,” Narvin mumbles against his chest, his eyes slipping shut against his will. 

“I am aware,” he murmurs, and turns to press his lips to the crown of Narvin’s head. “I happen to be somewhat fond of you as well.”

Narvin grumbles unhappily, glad that his resulting smile is hidden from view, and shifts just a bit closer. He supposes it isn’t the worst way to waste a morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [stcrmpilot.tumblr.com](https://stcrmpilot.tumblr.com)!


End file.
